


I hope that when I close my eyes / You'll be there when I open them tomorrow

by Splat_Dragon



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 09:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: Arthur won't pretend that he understands magic.Never really thought that it existed, really. He'd seen some strange things, sure, but in the end they all had a rational explanation.But even he couldn't explain away the fog, the cars and the televisions. The girl and her impossible devices, the knowledge utopia he found himself in. Being brought there, when everyone he knew and loved had long died.There was no rational explanation for that.





	I hope that when I close my eyes / You'll be there when I open them tomorrow

His head is throbbing, and the world is dancing all around him.

He doesn’t remember… doesn’t remember… what doesn’t he remember?

What __does__ he remember?

He remembers riding out, intending on hunting. Remembers being unable to find any animals, the area impossibly quiet. No deer had crossed his path, no birds had taken flight. He hadn’t even spooked up any rabbits. Remembers returning to camp, his hair standing on end.

But after that… he remembers nothing.

He’s on his feet, he realizes suddenly. Standing, although he feels as though he should be laying down. As though he’s floating, nothing beneath his feet. Can he move?

He shifts his weight, takes a step forward.

The ground remains beneath him, and he takes another step, and then another, before stopping.

Where __is__ he?

He sees nothing. The world around him is naught but mist and fog, whirling and dancing around him. He brings his hand up before his face, but until he presses it against his skin he cannot see it. There’s a strange give to the ground beneath him, as though he’s walking on a marsh, but when he lifts his feet and runs his fingers along the bottom of his boot, his fingers come away clean and dry.

“Hello?”

_ _“Hello? … ello? … llo? … o?”_ _

_ _

His voice echoes from everywhere around him, and he receives no other answer.

He has nowhere to go, there is nothing around him. His guns are on his hips, but he doesn’t dare fire them. For his own peace of mind more than anything, he draws them, beginning to walk forward.

And he walks

And he walks

And he walks.

The walk is unending, but he never turns, or doubles back. If he keeps going forward then, eventually, he has to run into something. A wall, or a turn, or a building or person. Nothing can go on forever, after all.

It feels, though, as though he’s been walking forever. Yet his feet don’t hurt, he doesn’t feel hungry or tired or thirsty or need to take a piss or a shit.

There’s something ahead of him.

A light.

His eyes widen, and he begins to jog, clinging to his gun.

It’s a building, he’s quick to realize, the light hazy in the way of a flame behind glass. And a building almost certainly means __people__, and people means an explanation! Even if he has to force it out of them, although he’d rather them give it to him willingly.

And, he realizes suddenly, the fog is fading away, giving way to shapes. To lush green grass with craters that reveal black dirt, to a table and wooden chairs that he stumbles passed, and then a funny looking stair that he climbs onto. The door is… glass, like a massive, over-sized window, and he calls out again, “Hello?”


End file.
